


Waking Up in the Desert

by B_Frizzy



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Coming Out, Digital Art, Emotionally Mature Bitty, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Kent "Parse" Parson Needs a Hug, M/M, Nostalgia, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex Work, brief mentions of homophobia, brief mentions of transphobia - Freeform, emotionally repressed Kent, guys who cry, mentions of slurs, sex worker bitty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22138948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Frizzy/pseuds/B_Frizzy
Summary: Eric Bittle regretted several things in his life. He once bought "natural yeast" online, big mistake. There were those three weeks when he wore nothing but acid-washed jeans. He really wished he could get those back. He didn’t, however, regret leaving Samwell University after the first disastrous semester. He didn’t regret moving to Las Vegas. And he didn’t regret that he somehow got into sex work, even though it brought him straight to Kent Parson’s doorstep. In fact, he kind of really appreciated that the universe sent him there, because it was clear that Kent Parson needed someone. Eric was determined to be that person.A tale of self reflection, self discovery, and sex.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Kent "Parse" Parson
Comments: 59
Kudos: 275





	Waking Up in the Desert

**Author's Note:**

> thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who helped me out with this fic, from encouragement to betaing.
> 
> and literally the biggest thanks to Denois for the perfect art they made.

When someone cared enough to ask how a kid from Georgia ended up walking the streets (metaphorically, of course) of Vegas, Eric had a number of made up answers at the ready. 

“I got sick of the humidity”, “I wanted to see what the desert was like”, “I came on spring break and needed the money to get back” (that one was for clients who liked his baby face a little too much). The reality was just a little pathetic. 

After his first semester at Samwell University, Eric couldn’t take it anymore. He sucked at school, he sucked at hockey, he sucked at being gay, a teammate, a friend, at everything. In one day, he went from his highest high to his lowest low; he had a great game, and then his captain smacked him down like he was a palmetto bug flying a little too close. 

It was the silliest thing that was the final straw, really. Eric was walking back to his dorm and got hit by a stray snowball. A group of people were having a harmless snowball fight, and he was unfortunate enough to get in the middle of it. It happened regularly enough, especially on Samwell’s campus. But it was just too much. After the Harvard game and Jack’s response to his goal, the snow trickling down the back of his too thin jacket was too much. He intended to head to the Haus for the kegster that Holster and Ransom would inevitably be setting up, but changed course and headed to his dorm room instead. He packed a bag with essentials and bribed a stranger he met at the student union to drive him to the Providence airport with an outrageously large bag of pot that Johnson had given him “for plot reasons”.

As for why he ended up in Vegas, well… He left Samwell with the feeling of snow still trickling down his back. He chose the first city off the departures board that he knew would be hot in the middle of December. It was certainly a plus that the flight was relatively cheap.

He bummed around Vegas for three days before meeting Joanna, a retired sex worker with a wicked sense of humor and a list of contacts that would make a CEO (or three) weep. At first, she just intended to buy Eric a drink and maybe a hotel room for the night, but they got to talking and before he even knew what was happening, he had a meeting set up with the premiere madame in the state of Nevada. Apparently, business men loved a cute face and a sweet smile, or so Joanna told him.

It didn’t take long for Eric to learn that himself from experience.

Learning the ins and outs of being a sex worker was like nothing like Eric expected (if he had ever put his mind to it, which, he didn’t think that was ever a thing he bothered to think about to be honest). Sure, there were lessons on kinks and boundaries, learning practical skills and giving… demonstrations (only when he was comfortable, of course). But there were also things like learning how to understand a nondisclosure agreement, etiquette lessons, knowing which hotels to avoid, and which tailors to patronize. And in the end, Eric was good. He was damn good.

It was the first time in his life that he found something that he was both good at and that he enjoyed. He was great at figure skating, but choosing to skate was less about an actual desire to do so, and more because it was the only thing his father didn’t outright forbid that wasn’t hypermasculine; by the time he could decide, he realized that he didn’t like it as much as he liked doing something that he was good at. And hockey… he loved hockey, but he wasn’t good at it, not really. He couldn’t take a hit. 

But sex work… there was a certain challenge to it that he loved.

````

After two years in Vegas, Eric had a regular clientele and had made a name for himself in a world he didn’t even know existed before he was part of it. He had a comfortable apartment, and for the first time ever, a comfortable life. 

So of course, it went up in flames in the seven seconds that it took to read and respond to a text message.

One of Eric’s regulars was away on business, which left a gap in his schedule twice a week. Normally, he’d take the time for himself, spend a little extra time at the gym, experiment with new skin treatments, just general maintenance to ensure that his clients were as happy as he could make them. But he was coming up on his two year anniversary of running away from Samwell, and it was making him feel some sort of way. Downtime scared him, so he sent a message to the scheduler who found new clients when he was free. Maybe he could pick up a few extra short-term clients to keep his mind busy, just until his regular got back.

It wasn’t long before he received a text.

First timer looking for vanilla bf experience. One time appt. NDA required. Y/N

Eric smiled and sent back a quick affirmative. He liked working with first timers. He heard so many horror stories about insensitive partners that he took a little pride in making someone’s first time an easy, pleasant experience. Plus, they tended to be an easy job, which was always nice.

He sent out the paperwork and got the confirmation information in no time. He still had a few hours to kill before he needed to head towards the Strip (newbies always thought they had to impress sex workers; they booked the best hotels), so Eric made sure that he had his wallet, keys, and phone before he headed out.

Christmastime in Vegas was like nowhere else Eric had ever been, and he loved it. In Georgia, everyone tried to live up to the idea of a perfect white Christmas, even though most kids had no clue what the meant. Snowmen decorations would sit on immaculate green lawns, and glittering christmas lights were hung in every window. In Samwell, it actually did look like the snow-covered season that Eric had dreamed of as a child, but nobody else seemed to care. There was no hint that a holiday was quickly approaching; students were so stressed about finals that half of them legitimately may not have even known. 

Vegas, though…. They embraced the fact that they were in the middle of the desert. Diamond encrusted stars topped palm trees, Santa wore bermuda shorts (when he wasn’t moonlighting as Elvis, that was), and clubs ran XXXmas specials

It was strange in an endearing way, and it always brought a smile to Eric’s face. That was a kind of new experience for him, and he was really loving it. It was all the best parts of Georgia and Samwell combined, without any of the bad parts. After two years, Vegas felt more like family than anywhere else he had ever been.

Even the blinding lights of the strip were oddly endearing. All off the flash and neon was still the same, but ropes of Christmas lights were twisted and twirled around every solid surface. He was greeted with a cheery neon Christmas tree inside the hotel, one of the largest he had ever seen. Eric didn’t bother to stop at the front desk; he walked purposefully toward the bank of elevators. 

He was pretty sure that most hotels that he frequented knew what kind of work he did, but most of them couldn’t give two shits. Every now and again, a particularly virtuous employee would give him side eye, but ultimately, sex work was legal in Vegas. Plus, most sex workers were friendlier and better clients than drunken tourists.

He ended up sharing the elevator with a very drunk couple. They were giggly and handsy and adorable. It put a little smile on Eric’s face. There was just something about seeing people enjoying each other that made him happy. He got out of the elevator before them, and threw them a cheeky wink as the doors were closing. 

It was easy enough to find the right door. Eric straightened out his short sleeved button up. Technically, he didn’t have to play up the young-and-twinky look for this client; he hadn’t been requested for his looks, but still… he had a reputation for a reason. He may exaggerate his style a bit, but he would legitimately dress that way even if he didn’t have to for his job (maybe a little looser). He had traded in starched denim jeans for a nice stretchy pair of skinny jeans and made sure that his shirt fit tightly to his lithe frame, but still. It was what made him most comfortable.

He knocked, and the door started opening immediately, like the person was waiting right there. Eric plastered on his best friendly smile. It lasted all of four seconds, because the moment he saw who was waiting for him behind the door, it dropped.

The amount of chirping he had received at Samwell for having no hockey knowledge whatsoever led Eric to several late nights of research, and a lot of those nights were reading on Kent Parson. Entire web-pages devoted to rumors of what happened that fateful draft day and tumblr blogs that tracked the “disaster porn” of Parson’s life. Not to mention seeing his face on every other billboard and public bus in the entire city. 

There was no way he wouldn’t recognize Kent Parson, and that was definitely Kent Frickin’ Parson standing in the doorway of the fancy hotel room where Eric was meeting his new client. 

He thought he recovered quickly enough, but Parson’s face did a complicated series of expressions that Eric was pretty sure meant he was caught. Then, like the entire exchange hadn’t happened, something changed in Parson’s posture and he gave him a lazy smile and waved him inside, closing the door gently behind them.

Eric decided to take Parson’s example. He sauntered inside and made sure to give Parson an extra wide smile, and let his gaze linger a little longer than was polite on the hard body hidden under clothes that had been worn thin over the years. After all, polite was relative, and Eric was there for a reason. 

“So, you recognize me, huh?” Kent pulled off his snapback with a familiar looking logo and ran a big hand through his messy hair before pulling it back on again. He had that same lazy smile and half-lidded expression, but there was something there that betrayed his nerves, too.

Eric leaned a hip against the bar just inside the room (a literal mini bar, instead of a mini fridge filled with knock-off booze). Some people liked to be recognized, they wanted to be treated like celebrities. Others wanted to pretend that they were any other tourist in Vegas, taking advantage of legalized sex work. Parson had such a solid and well-practiced media face that Eric couldn’t quite read which he would prefer. Eric’s mama taught him that when in doubt, honesty was the best policy.

“I do if you want me to, sweetpea. If you don’t, well, it could just as easily be a case of mistaken identity.”

Parson huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, okay. Honestly, either way is pretty fucked, so whatever you want, I guess.”

“Well alright, then, Mr Parson. You can call me Eric.” He walked to Parson with his hand out, getting a little closer than would have been acceptable with a stranger in any other situation. And while they were strangers, they wouldn’t be for long, so there wasn’t exactly anything wrong with it.

Parson took his hand, holding it more than shaking it. “You can call me Kent. Or, uh, Parser I guess?”

“Oh, baby. Nuh-uh. Let’s leave those hockey nicknames on the ice.”

To someone who wasn’t trained to look at body language, Kent probably look like the picture of ease. He was slumped over in a relaxed pose and his face was open while he kept eye contact with Eric. Eric wasn’t fooled, though; everything about Kent screamed terrified. His hands were sweating, his shoulders his tense, and he was shifting from foot to foot, just a little. He was very, very well trained to put on a good show for the people who would accept no less, for vultures masquerading as journalists. 

In a way, it was the same thing that Eric did with his clients. No matter how scared or disinterested he was, he needed to put on a good show. He had to put his negative emotions on the backburner for the sake of somebody else. 

For the first time, Eric saw a connection between his old life as an athlete and his new one as a sex worker. Both he and Kent sold their skills, and through their skills, their bodies. They had to put on a public face, to remain calm and confident on the exterior even if it wasn’t the case. They had to put their personal lives on hold to focus only on their job, to perform to the highest standards, to work well with everyone around them. 

Which is exactly what he had to do now. Eric forced his brain back to work mode. Easing a nervous client, he could do that. He started backing up, pulling Kent along with him until they reached the couch in the small sitting area. They would make it to the bed eventually, but he needed to calm Kent down first… and then rile him back up.

Kent sat at the very edge of the cushion. Eric sat close, not enough to be invading his space, but enough to be able to share casual touches, enough that their knees brushed. 

“So, sweetpea, I was told that this is your first time, but I’m not sure what all that means. Is it just your first time with a pro or with a man? Or maybe more?”

Kent ran his hands through his hair again, but left the snapback off this time, sitting on the coffee table. Eric wondered if he would like it just as much if someone else did it. Would he like it more? Eric would have to test it out later. 

“I mean, both I guess? I’ve been with women, and like… there used to be this teammate. We would fool around, mostly drunk or high. Just stupid teenage shit, y’know. Never, uh, penetrative sex.”

For a split second, Eric pictured a drunk Kent and Jack in bed together, but he banished the thought from his head before it could fully develop. Not the time. Really, really not the time. He set a hand on Kent’s knee.

“And is that what you want tonight, anal?”

Kent blushed a bright scarlet, and for the first time in his life, Eric understood why so many people described him as adorable. Kent nodded. “Yeah, yup. I’d like that. Please?”

Eric smiled. How was it fair that Kent was a Stanley Cup champion, a once in a generation hockey player, looked like that, and was so fucking cute? He let his hand drift a little higher, massaging the thick thigh muscles. 

“Well, I am certainly amenable. Is there anything else you have in mind?”

“Not that I can think of?”

Eric smiled. “Alright, sweetpea. We could keep with the small talk or we could work on reaching that goal.”

Kent swallowed audibly, then nodded. Good. Eric would like the next bit. Kent was a young, good looking guy (very, very good looking), who seemed… oddly sweet. And he suspected that Kent would like it as well. He hoped Kent would, at least. Eric could give him what he wanted, knew how to make him feel good, feel happy, and that made Eric happy. 

One advantage of being slightly-below-average size was that Eric could fit himself into small spaces. He managed to fit himself and his carry-on with all of his earthly possessions in his seat when he flew to Vegas, out of paranoia that his things would be stolen or lost. He once fit himself under a client’s bed (pretty comfortably, actually… the situation, not so much). And he was certainly the perfect size to fit into the lap of a nervous client.

He swung a leg over Kent’s lap and settled on his legs. Eric knew that Kent was nervous (even if he wanted to pretend like he wasn’t), so he didn’t push it too much. He stayed closer to Kent’s knees, so that they were close enough for touches and kisses, but there was no potential for their crotches to accidentally touch before everyone was totally comfortable with it.

Up close, he could see a dusting of barely-there freckles on Kent’s face, sweeping over the bridge of his nose, the kind that probably got darker when he could spend time outside during the summertime. He was nervously watching Eric’s movements with wide eyes. That carefully composed mask was falling, just a little. Eric took it as a job well done; he wasn’t more nervous, like he seemed, just more comfortable showing it. 

“Can I kiss you, Kent?”

He nodded, so Eric leaned forward and brushed their lips together. He started with a gentle press of lips, soft and careful. He loved the first steps, the going slow, taking his time. He wouldn't give up his regulars for anything, they were great. But they were familiar. There was no gentle exploration anymore. It was a shame.

Eric gave in and ran his hands through Kent’s hair. It was a little rough, rougher than Eric had expected. Judging from the small intake of breath, he seemed to like it just as much as Eric suspected he would. He gave Kent’s chapped lips a small lick and waited for a response before he took the kiss a little further. Small movements and tentative tongues, he let himself get a little lost in it.

It was clear that Kent was enjoying himself, but was still holding back. He leaned his body in as close as he could, opened easily to Eric’s tongue, but didn’t bring his hands up to touch, didn’t do anything to further their kiss. Eric used his hands to gently manipulate the angle. Not a lot of guys let Eric have control, which was a nice change of pace.

One of Eric’s clients had taken him to an Ace’s game. He had caught a few hockey clips after he left Samwell, but it was the first time that he had actually watched a game. At the time, he had been absolutely taken by the way Kent skated and played. It was electrifying. He was a natural, so confident in every movement. The rink was where he was most comfortable.

That was the kind of comfort and confidence that Eric wanted to inspire in Kent. He wanted the experience to be one of the best off-ice memories that he had. He wanted Kent to go into his next sexual experience with no worries or anxiety. With first timers, there was a unique opportunity to make things better in the future, and there was a part deep in Eric that wanted to give that to Kent. 

Kent seemed to be relaxing into it more, humming a little and bringing his hands up to grip Eric’s arms. He held them tightly for a minute before sliding them up his shoulders, down his back (and goodness did Eric feel small with the way Kent’s hands could wrap so fully and snuggly around his waist), before resting on his hips. 

He took that as a good sign and let himself slide down Kent’s legs so that he was sitting properly in his lap. He made a happy sigh and wiggled his hips, just a little, just enough to make his presence known. Kent gasped at the sensation, pulling away from their kiss. 

Eric repeated the motion, making a slow circle with his hips, and then another. Kent dropped his head against the back of the couch. Eric took advantage of the smooth column of neck, kissing and nipping, making sure not to leave any marks that Kent could be chirped about later. There was a slightly tang, sweat from nerves or a workout earlier in the day, maybe. He gave a rougher scrape of teeth, half testing what Kent liked and half for his own enjoyment, and he felt a groan vibrate through Kent’s throat. His hands gripped Eric’s hips tightly, holding him close. 

“Oh, fuck.”

The next thing Eric knew, Kent was tightening his arms and lifting. He could feel Kent’s muscles working, the way his abs bunched, his thighs flexed, how easily his arms lifted Eric like he was practically nothing. And goodness did he like that.

He frowned down at Kent anyway, exaggerating the expression just a bit. He would have crossed his arms, too, if he wasn’t so terrified of falling on his butt. It felt a little weird to be looking down at someone, but Eric ran with it, tilting his chin and keeping eye contact.

“Excuse me, Mr Parson. If you drop me, you’re going to be in a world of trouble. And if you hurt yourself, I’m going to be in a world of trouble. I don’t want to try to explain to all of Vegas that I broke their captain in a sex act gone wrong.”

Kent grinned at him. It was a nice grin, a beautiful grin, but still not entirely genuine. There was a tension behind his eyes that told Eric that he was still hiding being that public face, just a bit. Just enough.

It almost reminded Eric of what Jack looked like when the stray reporter who needed to fill a deadline wanted to check up on the famous young Zimmermann. Jack was straight-faced where Kent was cocky, but both of them used what was expected of them to hide their true emotions. 

The first time that Eric saw Jack do it for real, he wanted to kiss that mask away, to tell him that it was okay to have feelings, that he needed to just let out his anger. He couldn’t (and wouldn’t have anyway), but he could help now.

Kent started to say something in response to Eric’s quip, but Eric didn’t give him a chance. He leaned down and gave him a soft, slow kiss. Despite his teasing, Eric actually did trust Kent to lift him up. He did follow his Insta, after all, and saw all those incredibly impressive workouts Kent did. And he wanted to let Kent know that he trusted him, that there was someone out there who knew Kent was a good person.

He let go of Kent’s shoulders and brought his hands up to cradle Kent’s jaw. It was gentle, sweeter than the kisses they shared sitting on the couch. Eric wanted to express how precious Kent was, that it was okay to express his feelings, that it was normal to be nervous, that Eric would be with him every step of the way without judgement.

Kent slowly walked them to the bed, chasing after every kiss. He gently lowered Eric (who fully expected to be tossed like a bale of hay, honestly), and pulled back enough to look him in the face.

Eric stroked Kent’s cheek. “Sweet boy. What can I do to make you feel good?”

Kent licked his lips and slowly looked up and down Eric’s body laid out on the bed. “Can you take your shirt off?”

Without hesitation, he started unbuttoning his shirt, moving slowly enough to build a little tension, but not too slowly so that Kent lost the nerve he built up enough to ask for something that he wanted.

Years of figure skating had done Eric’s body good. He had taught his body from a young age how to build muscle. The short time playing hockey taught Eric how to condition his body, how to work out to the best of his abilities. When he moved to Vegas, he leaned into it. His body was a huge part of his occupation, and that meant that he had to keep it in a certain condition.

He wasn’t rock hard and cut like the bodies that Kent was probably used to seeing in the locker rooms (or like Kent himself). Partly because he didn’t have that kind of commitment to working out, and partly because he was expected to present himself in a certain way, and it certainly wasn’t to be a hunk. Heck, he wasn’t even a twunk.

Eric was a twink, pure and simple. But even twinks could take care of their bodies, and Eric made sure that he did. His tummy was flat, the impression of abs forming. His thighs weren’t as thick as when he was skating regularly, but he had made sure that other parts of him were thicker, better for grabbing.

He shifted a little, feeling the uncomfortable tightness of his jeans. He wanted to put his best assets forward, which meant some very skinny jeans indeed. They made his booty look great, but they weren’t exactly made for laying down in. Heck, they weren’t even comfortable to sit in.

He shifted again, tugging a little on his belt loops with one hand. It was more for show than anything, an excuse to move things along a little; he could deal with more than a little discomfort. 

“Do you mind if I take off my pants, sweetpea? Get a little more comfy?”

Eric let his other hand drag down his chest until it rested on the waist of his blue jeans. Kent followed with his eyes and nodded, still staring at the place where his hand was toying lightly with the buttons.

He slowly undid the top button, then the second, then the third. Joanna once told him that the only jeans he should own were button fly, and he had taken it to heart. Unbuttoning them was like holding your breath, waiting for what was to come. So far, none of his clients had complained. Kent certainly seemed to like them, if the way he was staring was anything to go by.

Before Eric popped open the last button, he slowly ran his fingers across the soft trunks underneath. He waited until Kent looked back up to his face and held eye contact before opening the last button and shimmying his pants down his slim hips.

In a move that probably seemed careless, he threw his pants to the other side of the bed. As far as Kent was concerned, it was probably done in haste. Really, though, it was well planned so that later on, he could easily grab out the condoms and small packs of lube hidden in the pockets.

Two years ago Eric, Samwell Eric (Bitty), would never have bought neon trunks. They were too daring, too much. Even a few months ago, it felt like a risk to branch out from the neutrals that his underwear drawer was dominated by. But the vibrant blue looked positively electric against his deeply tanned skin. He ran his fingers lightly across the waistband, tracing up and down his prominent hip bones.

Kent started knee-walking up the bed until he was hovering over him, caging him in with his big hands and thick arms. There was no hesitation. He dove in, kissing Eric hungrily. Eric met him with equal vigor, letting his hands move across Kent’s chest, down his back, revelling in the feel of his thick ass. Kent dropped his hips in response, grinding hard and dirty against Eric. 

Mm, it was nice. The denim of his jeans was rough, even through Eric’s underwear. It was wonderful. The feeling of Kent’s growing hardness against his own was even better. Eric broke off with a gasp. It was mostly genuine, even.

“How would you feel about taking off some of your clothes, too?”

Kent sat up and pulled his t-shirt off immediately. Eric grinned up at him, because good lord he was pretty. His skin was golden, covered in little freckles that gave Eric thoughts about Kent hanging out in the sun too long without a shirt. He was built, with a thick core and powerful shoulders. Eric’s favorite part, though, was the soft looking hair on Kent's pecs and the trail leading down his amazing abs and into his (stupidly expensive) boxer waistband.

Honestly, he wanted to touch... Everything. There was a zing in his belly that he usually didn’t get while he was on a job. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate each and every client that he had and the experiences that he got with each and all of them, but none were quite as beautiful as Kent was. 

He couldn’t choose what he wanted quickly enough. Kent fell back down and captured Eric’s mouth in a desperate kiss. Something must have changed for Kent, because there was no hint of nerves anymore, and it was just perfect. Eric followed suit, gripping Kent’s broad shoulders and holding him close. Kent’s hips were rolling in a smooth and steady pace. He brought his legs up and wrapped them around Kent’s hips, giving them a better angle to grind together.

Kent broke off with a shaky moan.

Eric found that he was breathing just as hard, chest heaving against Kent’s. Everything felt real and raw and… genuine, the way sex usually didn’t feel for him at work. It never had, really, not that he had much recreational sexual experience.

Fuck, he needed to get himself together.

Kent leaned down and started pressing kisses to his neck, gentle and ticklish. Eric turned his head to the side to give him more space to work with.

“Mmm, that feels real good, baby. How can I make you feel real good, too? Hm? What thoughts are gettin’ you hot under the collar?”

More of his syrupy southern accent was dropping back into his voice than it had in awhile, but Eric couldn’t find it in himself to care. Kent didn’t stop nipping and nibbling on Eric’s neck, but slowed down like was thinking. Eric was pretty sure that he would want what most guys wanted: to fuck Eric. The idea of being with a man, of having sex eith a man, had probably been on his mind for weeks (years, even), and Eric couldn’t blame him one bit. The hard part wasn’t deciding, it was voicing it.

Eric carefully threaded his fingers through Kent’s messy hair, enjoying the feel of the thick strands that could use a little less helmet and a little more conditioner. He didn’t mind being Kent’s voice. 

“I could suck your dick, baby. It felt mighty nice up against me, like it would fit in my throat perfect. I could get myself ready for you, stretch out my little hole just right and sit on that perfect cock. How’s that sound?”

Kent moaned, breathing heavily against Eric’s neck now instead of mouthing at it (and he was sure glad that most of his clients didn’t care about marks, because hoo boy would he be sporting some lovely hickies by the end of the night). He didn’t actually respond, though, or ease up at all. That was okay, because Eric was more than happy to keep running his mouth.

“Or maybe you don’t want me to ride you. Maybe you want to turn me around on my hands and knees, and pound into my little ass until I’m begging to come on your cock alone. Is that what you want, to wreck me, to make me your little mess?”

Kent groaned against his shoulder. “Fuck, dude. All of that sounds good. Any of it. But I… I want to suck your cock first.”

“Oh!”

Honestly, Eric was a little surprised. More than a few clients had asked to go down on him; it wasn’t an every day, or even every week kind of thing, but it wasn’t that uncommon. Part of the appeal of going to a sex worker was that you got to do things that weren’t part of your normal routine. It wasn’t common for a first timer, though. Having sex was scary, and a man having sex with a man for the first time was understandably intimidating. 

Giving a blow job put you in a delicate position, a position that could lead to harm. It took a certain level of trust in your partner that most people couldn’t find in sex workers, not without being extremely familiar with them (or without a draw to that potential for harm, or the harm itself). 

Not that it was a hard request for Eric to fulfill, by any means. 

Now that he had a place to start, he drew Kent back in for more kisses. Kent had tensed up while they talked (as short as the conversation had been), and Eric wanted to get him to relax again. 

It was easy to distract him with mouth and wandering hands, picking up exactly where they had left off. It wasn’t long before Eric carefully brought his hands down to Kent’s pants to unbutton the fly. He didn’t play or make any delays; he undid a button with a quick flick of his wrist. Another two seconds and the zip was pulled down. 

While Kent sat up to wriggle out of his pants, Eric reached across to his pants to grab one of the condoms that he had stashed in his pocket earlier that evening. It was always a toss up whether a client had them nearby, so Eric kept them close at hand for all of his appointments. 

He set in on his chest so that it wouldn’t get lost in the sheets while they were moving around, and made eye contact with Kent before he slowly slipped off his trunks. Honestly, even with his line of work, Eric didn’t consider himself nude much anymore. A penis was a penis. Size alone didn’t make them intimidating; you either were or you weren’t, barring the very extreme case. 

Sometimes, he tried to see himself from a client’s eyes, to see what he looked like to them. He carefully groomed so that his body hair was always well-kept, not fully shaved but trimmed enough that the blond hair was barely there at first glance. He always thought his dick was fairly proportional, not too big for his small frame. 

But, proportional or not, it was still pretty intimidating seeing another person’s penis up close for the first time, especially when you had very specific intentions with them.

Eric relaxed back onto the pillows, propped up enough that he could look down the line of his body and see Kent settling between his knees. Kent slowly ran his hands up and down Eric’s hips, fitting his thumbs carefully on the grooves of Eric’s hips. His breath was warm on Eric’s cock.

“Can you teach me? I want to know how.”

Eric groaned. That was… that was definitely a kink for him. The idea of getting to teach Kent exactly how to please someone, of showing him the right ways to move and the right techniques to drive a person mad, the knowledge that anyone who benefitted in the future from his lessons would be a reminder to Kent of his time with Eric… there was an undeniable draw to it.

But that was a personal thing, not something that he could be bringing to work. Certainly not with a first timer, especially someone as nervous as Kent had been at first. If he made a wrong move, accidentally introduced something that was a hard limit Kent didn’t even know that he had, everything could go south. fast.

“I would love to, baby.”

Kent’s eyes fluttered shut and his mouth dropped open, just a little. Gosh he was beautiful. Images of what a scene could look like with him filled Eric’s head, and he shivered at the thoughts. Not now, though. Maybe not ever, and that was okay, too. This was about Kent.

Eric ran his fingers lightly through Kent’s hair, steady but not forceful.

“Just start slow, okay? Everything you do will feel amazing, so there’s no reason to push yourself into something you’re not ready for.”

He didn’t move Kent’s head, didn’t push or pull, just let his hand wrest there to be a small comfort. Kent took him at his word, starting slow with little kisses along Eric’s pubic bone. 

“Use your hands first, get familiar with the feeling of someone else.”

Kent immediately brought one hand to Eric’s dick, gripping the base with confidence. He started slowly moving his hand up and down, just watching. Something seemed to cross Kent’s face, but before Eric could figure out what it meant, Kent dove in and sucked the head of Eric’s cock into his mouth.

There was that unerring confidence that Eric recognized while Kent was playing hockey. Diving head first (or mouth first, in this case) into a situation with full confidence in his abilities. The feeling of success was almost better than the feeling of Kent’s mouth.

Almost. Not quite though, because it was hot, and wet, and so good. Eric wanted to show his appreciation, so he moaned, “Oh gosh. Yeah, baby, that feels good.”

When he was off the clock, Eric wasn’t really that loud in bed. He wasn’t naturally vocal, didn’t moan or even talk a whole lot. But he found that his clients liked it, so he did it. Some just like the idea of a little twink having a big ole dirty mouth, but some found comfort in it, felt encouraged in a job well done. Something told Eric that Kent was a little of both.

Kent spent his time exploring, licking slowly and carefully around Eric’s ridges, his frenulum, right over the tip of the condom where Eric could feel it over his slit. That slow exploration again that he loved so much. Not just because they were new partners, but because Kent had never done this before. The thought sent a zing through Eric. He was the first; he always would be, no matter what happened in the future.

“You’re doing so good. Whenever you feel ready, start to move your head. Nice and easy.”

He let the hand in Kent’s hair press just a little heavier, still not pushing, but definitely making it known what he wanted to happen. Kent immediately let his head drop an inch, brought it back up, then dropped a little lower. 

He pet a hand through Kent’s hair, letting himself enjoy the sensations. When Kent started to slowly bob his head up and down, Eric let out a sigh in appreciation and gave a gentle tug on his hair. It wasn’t going to get him off, by any means, but he wasn’t lying when he told Kent that it was going to feel nice no matter what he did. 

“Now, use your hand to work the bottom so you don’t have to go as deep. A little tighter… yeah, just like that.”

He let Kent take his time and get the hang of things, figuring out how to work his hand and mouth together, testing the limits of his gag reflex. Honestly, Eric couldn’t think of a time when he enjoyed his job more. Not just because he was getting to receive and enjoy pleasure; he had more than a few clients who enjoyed watching him orgasm more than having their own.

Maybe it was because he saw so much of Jack in Kent, so he didn’t feel like a stranger, or maybe because Eric felt empathy for him. Or maybe it was that little bit of him that wanted to see Kent comfortable and happy. No matter what the reason was, Eric felt an emotional aspect to the experience that he rarely did.

Kent seemed to be getting into a rhythm. His movements were getting more confident, a slow and steady up and down that felt phenomenal. Eric could tell that he was doing his best to use his tongue, dragging it up and down his shaft, flicking across the head on each upstroke. It was honestly more coordinated than most first-timers were. Certainly better than Eric was on his first try.

With a particularly hard suck, Eric gasped and tapped Kent’s head to get his attention. He pulled off with an obscene pop. Gosh, how good he looked with flushed cheeks, and swollen lips, and spit on his chin.

“That was so good, sweetheart. You look so good right now. I’d love to see how good you look when I’m sitting on your cock, though. And feel how good it’s gonna feel. How’s that sound, sweetpea?”

“Good. Fuck, it sounds great.” Kent’s voice was rough and scratchy, and so darn good. Eric couldn’t help but run a thumb across those plump lips. Kent’s tongue darted out to chase it.

“Last question, sweetheart. Do you want to prep me, or should I do it?”

Technically speaking, it didn’t really need to be done at all. Eric made sure to prep before all of his appointments, just in case a client got a little too impatient to take the time to make sure it was done properly. There was no harm in double checking, though. Plus, it would be good for Kent to know in the future.

The indecision was clear on Kent’s face. That was okay, Eric was more than happy making the decisions, to help out where he could.

“How about I get started, and you can jump in if you want to?”

Kent nodded. Eric expected him to scoot back up the bed, to settle in next to him, but he didn’t. Instead, he stayed where he was between Eric’s legs, wide-eyed but clearly interested. Yeah, okay, Eric could work with that.

He grabbed the packets of lube and put them close by, then lifted up one leg. He drew his fingers lightly over his hole, feeling the slight stickiness from his earlier prep. The light tickle was nice, a tease after the way that Kent had sucked his cock so enthusiastically. He shivered with it, then slowly pressed the tip of one finger in and moaned. Kent made a low sound in response.

“Can you put some lube on my fingers, baby? Y’always gotta use lots.”

He looked down at Kent’s wide-eyed expression. It took a few seconds for him to process, but once he did, he fumbled for a packet. Eric slid his finger back out to catch some of the lube that Kent drizzled generously down his crack and over his hole.

It wasn’t the best angle to finger himself from; it didn’t allow him to go very deep, only pressing his finger shallowly in and out. It would be easier to be on his side, or even his hands and knees. He kept going, though, encouraged when Kent put a hand high on his thigh. He hummed in appreciation and added another finger, slowly restretching.

He arched his back into it, trying to get just a little further. Part of it was a show for Kent, but part of it was how much he wanted to feel the stretch, to feel it deep inside of him. Kent’s hand slid up, closer to where Eric’s fingers disappeared inside of him.

Eric groaned, because it wasn’t just more that he wanted, it was more Kent. He wanted to see if Kent’s soft hands translated to more than just hockey. If he could put his strong, talented fingers to use to make Eric into a puddle, if he could find the mark and hit it over and over again.

Hell, Eric just wanted Kent, period. More than he’d wanted anyone in a long, long time. He wasn’t faking it for the job or exaggerating anymore. There was just something about Kent that really revved his engine. It went through him like a fire, just how fucking turned on he was. He hadn’t realized it until that moment.

Eric gasped. He had been so in his head that he didn’t notice Kent’s hand continuing to make its way up his body until his fingers were tapping against his perineum and grazing gently over his stretched hole.

“Please, sweetheart.”

He slipped his own fingers out and canted his hips up. Kent’s eyes flicked up to Eric’s face, then back to where his fingers were gently circling. He bit his lip and sunk his finger up to the second knuckle in one firm press. 

“Oh god, yes.” It was perfect, exactly what Eric needed, deeper than he could reach himself and perfect.

Kent pulled back out and pressed in again. Eric couldn’t help the flex of his hips, trying to get just a little more, trying to show Kent just what he wanted.

“Like this?” Kent’s voice was breathy and rough. 

Eric loved it. “It’s so good, baby. Please, more. Another.”

Kent fumbled with the lube with his free hand, and soon he was pressing in a second finger. Eric moaned at the feeling. Kent’s fingers were thicker than his own, thick knuckles and rough calluses from years of hard work. They were different from other clients he had been with, too, people who hadn’t conditioned the way Kent had.

He flexed his hips up and down until Kent started following his rhythm. His motions became more fluid, moving his fingers in and out with purpose. Without pausing at all, he slipped a third finger along with the first two.

Eric let out a soft sigh that caught him by surprise. It was one of the most genuine noises he’d ever made during an appointment. It wasn’t acting or for show, just a genuine noise of enjoyment. He didn’t have time to be distracted by it, though, because Kent twisted his fingers just so and hit Eric’s prostate straight on. 

He arched his back into the sensation. “Oh gosh, right there sweetheart.”

Kent took his word as gospel and nailed it again and again. Eric threw his head back, just this side of overwhelmed. He immediately lost his rhythm, trying to stay as still as possible so that Kent could hit right on, every time. He was pretty sure he was making a kind of soft gasping noise, but couldn’t find himself to care much. It was just perfect.

He must have missed the moment when Kent grabbed a condom packet from higher up on the bed, but he definitely heard the crinkle. It took more effort than it should have for Eric to open his eyes and glance downward.

“Not with your teeth, honey.”

Kent looked torn, glancing between the condom and where his fingers disappeared into Eric, like he didn’t want to take his fingers out even to put on the condom. Eric appreciated the sentiment, but it also made him giggle a little. 

Eventually, Kent slowly slipped his fingers out and wiped the lube on the bedsheets. As a rule, Eric tried not to leave hotel rooms worse for the wear, but he couldn’t bring himself to care this time. He was regretting loss too much. It took almost no time for Kent to slip out of his underwear and roll the condom on, but it felt like forever.

They hadn’t negotiated positions or how they would fuck, but Kent didn’t hesitate to gently push Eric’s legs apart and settle between them. That was perfectly good with Eric. He pulled his knees up towards his chest to help with get the best angle.

Kent hesitated for just a few seconds, gripping Eric’s hips tightly. He took a deep breath and Eric made sure to keep eye contact and project calm as much as he could. He carefully ran a hand down Kent’s shoulder and smiled, nodding that he was ready whenever Kent was. 

The first few seconds, that first push, was so good. There was a few seconds of resistance and then Kent pushed in all the way, until he was as deep as he could go. Eric sighed lowly, enjoying the feeling and the expression Kent was making. It was so sexy, and made the whole experience that much better. 

Kent didn’t bother opening his eyes before he slowly slid out and pressed back in. He set a painfully slow rhythm, a careful in and out. Every few thrusts, his hips would twitch like he wanted nothing more than to drive in as hard and fast as he could, but he kept moving like he wanted to make the experience last as long as possible. The thing was, though, that the something lasting longest didn’t make it best.

Eric ran his hand up Kent’s neck and to his face to get his attention. “Look at me, sweetheart.” 

Kent held his breath and slowed to a stop before he looked at Eric. His face was flushed and his eyes were wide, pupils blown. Eric sat up the best he could, pushing up on his arms and flexing his core so that he could press gentle kisses to Kent’s lips. After a few seconds, Kent got the message. 

He dropped onto his elbows so that he could keep kissing Eric, deeper and dirtier, and started thrusting again. Eric could tell that he stopped focused on doing things right or making it last and started focusing on only their pleasure. He grinned into their kiss and wrapped his legs around Kent’s narrow hips.

They started sweating after nearly no time, with their bodies pressed so tightly together and the work they were doing. Eric started flexing his hips hip to meet Kent on every downthrust. 

Kent groaned and broke away to chuckle into Eric’s shoulder. 

“Fuck. Can we… Do you mind turning around? On your hands and knees?”

Eric turned his face to press a sweet kiss on Kent’s cheek. “Of course we can, baby.”

He tapped Kent’s shoulder so that he would move back, and Eric quickly rolled over so that he was on his belly. He pulled his knees under himself, but kept his arms down, gripping the bedsheets tightly in his hands.

Strictly speaking, being on his hands and knees wasn’t his favorite. It put a lot of pressure on his knees and the small of his back, a little painful from years of being too hard on his body during sports. Most clients didn’t seem to mind much if he stayed with his face down, ass up, Kent included.

Kent ran a hand over Eric’s ass, gripping tightly before sliding it down his sloping back. 

“You’re so hot, Eric. Fuck.”

He pressed back in, this time without the careful focus that he had the first time. Instead, he started hard and fast and kept it up until Eric could barely see straight. The angle of his hips and the way that Kent was pushing in managed to hit his prostate every few thrusts. There wasn’t any pattern to it, so Eric couldn’t anticipate when it would happen. Honestly, it was the fucking best. 

“Yes, just like that, sweetheart. That’s so good.”

Kent groaned above him and dropped down on one arm. He used the other arm to reach around to Eric’s cock, jerking him off in the same punishing pace that he was fucking him with. Eric realized that he was close, very close. Closer than he thought he was or expected to be. 

He dropped his head to the sheets and moaned, or maybe shouted. He wasn’t sure at that point. “Kent, oh gosh, please. I’m so close baby, don’t stop.”

Kent seemed to take the advice to heart, doubling down. He went full out, fucking Eric without abandon. Stars went off behind Eric’s eyes, but the thing that really did him in was the quiet grunting noises that Kent probably didn’t realize he was making. 

Eric threw himself back to meet Kent’s last few thrusts, reveling in the slap of skin on skin and the slight scratch from the calluses on Kent’s hand where it was pulling of his cock. He came harder than he had in a while, spurting hard and hot on the bed below him. He came with a moan and Kent’s name on his lips. 

It didn’t take long for Kent to follow him, grunting loading with little thrusts of his hips as he filled the condom inside of Eric.

They collapsed together in a sweaty heap breathing hard. Kent was spread out on his back, staring up at the ceiling like he could quite believe that he had just had sex with a man. Eric grinned at him before slipping off the bed.

Kent grabbed his hand at the last second. “Don’t go. Please?”

Eric leaned over and kissed him gently. “I’m not going anywhere but the bathroom, baby. I’m just gonna get a towel to clean up, okay?”

One of the best things about fancy hotels was that they had fully stocked toiletries in the bathroom. Eric grabbed the package of face wipes that he knew from experience were better at cleaning cum than the scratchy hand towels. He wiped himself up as quickly as possible before heading back out to the bedroom.

He gave Kent a wipe to use on his hands while he helped him out of the condom and cleaned him off quickly but thoroughly. Once they were both as clean as they could be without showering, Eric quickly stripped the sheets and flopped back down.

They spent time together in silence, mostly, finding the best ways to cuddle. They pushed and pulled at each other, giggling a little, until they finally wore themselves out. When they finally settled with Kent laying on Eric’s stomach, Eric couldn’t help but fill the silence a little.

“I used to play, you know.” Kent shifted his head from where he was resting it on Eric’s stomach, shooting him an inquisitive look. Eric hadn’t meant to say it, really, but Kent seemed interested so he elaborated, “Hockey. I played hockey in college.”

Kent turned all the way around, surprise obvious on his face. 

“No offense, but you’re a little… I can’t say I was expecting that.”

Eric rolled his eyes. Nobody ever expected it. And it wasn’t that he wasn’t self-aware, he knew what he looked like (especially compared to the average hockey player). Maybe especially for Kent, who played on the professional level, there was an expectation that Eric certainly didn’t fit. A little part of him couldn’t help but be offended at the shock, though.

He wiggled to get a little more comfortable on the bed, sweaty skin sticking to the sheets. “Now, it wasn’t very long, mind, but long enough. I had a scholarship to play at a school that won the Frozen Four a respectable amount of times.”

Kent grinned back at him, a little crooked and very endearing. “I’m guessing you’re weren’t a goalie.”

Eric scowled at him and mimed bopping him on the head."No, Mr. Parson, I was not a goalie. I was a forward, which I'm sure you figured out in that big, beautiful hockey brain of yours."

For maybe the first time ever, Eric didn't feel any negative feelings looking back on his time at Samwell. A lot of bad things happened and it was a bad time for him in general, but it led to a positive change in his life. Multiple positive changes. Who knows, maybe that meant he was growing up, getting over it. Whatever the reason, it was pretty nicer not to feel that sinking feeling in his belly. 

Kent rearranged himself a little, settling on an elbow to look down at Eric. “So what happened?”

“I can’t take a check. Trauma shit about big men coming after men.” He shrugged a little and gave a half-smile. “Plus, I don’t know if you noticed or not, but I’m pretty small. I’m good at bein’ quick, but not much else.”

Kent waited, as if he could tell that wasn’t the whole story. And of course, it wasn’t. It was as much as he had told anyone, though, and even those people were few and far between. Eric wasn’t sure if he wanted to go there at all. At the same time, though, he didn’t know if he was going to be in such a relaxed mood about Samwell again. It would be the best time to talk about it. 

He took a few seconds to look at Kent, to see how he was reacting to everything. He looked well and truly relaxed. There was no tension in his shoulders or jaw, he was quick with a smile and he didn’t second guess when he made a joke. It was such a beautiful look on him. Eric was honestly a little proud of himself for contributing to that. If he was a betting man (and he, strictly speaking, was not), he’d bet that it had been a long, long time since he had been that at ease in his own body.

Eric grabbed Kent’s free hand, playing with his fingers mindlessly.

“My captain, he… Now, don’t get me wrong, he was a great man and a great player, but he had a bit of a troubled relationship with hockey. He wasn’t the best at communicating with teammates. I was already of a difficult case, and, well... He tried to work with me as best as he could, but we were just the wrong people for each other at the wrong time in our lives.

“It would have been different if I had been out at the time, probably, if I was more comfortable with myself in areas outside of hockey, but I wasn’t. Like I said, wrong place, wrong time. I needed to be treated with kid gloves by someone who didn’t know the meaning.”

Kent brought their hands up to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Eric’s. Honestly, that was one of the sweeter gestures anyone had ever done for him.

“Do you miss it?”

That was the question that Eric hadn’t let himself think about, even after two years. If he missed hockey, truly missed it, then he may have made the wrong choice. He may have seriously messed up his entire life, over nothing more than a tantrum. If he missed hockey, if he missed Samwell, if he missed his old life, he’d have to admit that he was wrong.

The easy answer is of course he misses it. Hockey, even though it was only in his life briefly, was such a monumental and life-changing thing for him. And it was such a unique, one of a kind experience that there wasn't anything else that could take its place. 

Eric definitely missed his teammates, the built in friendships and camaraderie. It was nice knowing that there was a full team of men who would have your back if anything went wrong. He even missed his old teammates as individuals. They were interesting and eccentric and loveable (mostly). 

More than anything, though, he missed the ice. Hockey had been in his life for just a short period of time, but the ice, skating, had been his love for a lot longer than that. Vegas had a lot of things, but ice wasn’t one of them. He couldn’t lace up a pair of skates whenever he got the urge to glide. Eric had found different ways to work out, but there wasn’t anything quite like the burn in his thighs from a good skate.

At the same time, though, he didn’t feel like there was anything missing in his life now. He didn’t feel lonely and was rarely alone. He didn’t wake up craving ice. It wasn’t something that felt necessary to his life, or even necessary to have a happy life.

And while he missed his teammates, and being on a team in general, he also never felt comfortable enough with the to come out, to tell them about his struggles, to ask for help. Not to mention, when you were on a team you couldn’t pick and choose who you were playing with.

Which brought him to the issue of Jack… Eric looked up to him, trusted him, learned from him, developed a stupid crush on him, and also got crushed by him. If Eric was being entirely, brutally honest with himself, Jack was also who he missed the most out of everyone at Samwell. 

Kent shifted, which brought Eric back to himself. He smiled up at Kent. 

“I miss it, but I’m happy where I left things, and where I am.”

Kent grinned at him. “Oh, you’re happy where you are, huh?”

He rolled on top of Eric, effectively pinning him. They were still sweaty and a little gross, but Eric went along with it. He wriggled under Kent’s hard body, enjoying the feel of it.

“I am. I could be happier, though. I certainly was about, ohhh, 20 minutes. Feel like helping me out?”

Kent made an exaggerated thinking face. "Well okay I guess. One question first?"

Eric grinned back. "What is it, big guy?"

"What was your hockey nickname?"

"...Bitty. it was Bitty."

````

Kent tugged on his dress shirt. He practically lived in a fucking suit, wore them like most folks wore pajamas, but today he couldn’t seem to get used to the feeling. The collar felt like a noose. Swoops slapped at his hands.

“Dude, stop pulling. Your agent is going to bite your head off if you get in front of the press looking like shit today.”

He shoved Swoops away, but followed his directions. He fucking loved Swoops. There was no way he could express how grateful he was for all of the work he had put in for Kent, for the way he had stuck by the past few months.

“I think I’m about to fucking ralph.” He already had. Several times, actually. Honestly, Kent had no clue why he was going through with this. He didn’t know how it ever got any further than a half-assed idea in his sex addled brain. And yet, there he was, waiting for Smithy to open the doors to the press room so that he could come out to the world, hours before the first preseason game. 

Man, he was a fucking idiot. The door started opening. Swoops patted his back, then shoved him forward. 

“Too late, buddy. Time to go!”

Smithy gestured him in. No going back now. Fuck, okay. Kent started walking before he could change his mind. He was doing this. He was. 

The table at the front of the conference room was full, except the two chairs for Kent and Smithy. His agent, Mary, was there along with the GM, the owner of the Aces, HR. Basically, everyone who could, maybe, be useful or needed to be there to present a united front to the media.

Kent did his best not to trip over his own shoes while Smithy led him to the front of the room. He didn’t focus on the crowd of reporters or the constipated looks on everyone’s faces. He clenched the crumpled paper in his pockets. He could do this.

He tried to tell himself that it was no different than all of the other press conferences he’d done. Kent picked out the friendly faces in the crowd, the reporters who asked easy questions after hard losses, the ones who would treat this like a thing to celebrate instead of exploit. There were even a few gentle smiles from the press who were deliberately leaked the story early (to spin it in a positive direction), which made him feel a little better. 

They took their seats, Kent right in the middle of the table. He carefully put his notes in front of him, because he was pretty sure that he would shred it if he kept on holding it. He also cracked the seal on the water bottle that had been left on the table for him, because he was going to need it. On the other side of him, Mary patted his knee as a show of confidence.

When Kent was the one to speak first, the reporter’s faces began to change. They knew immediately that this wasn’t going to be a run of the mill conference or an update about Kent’s health.

He cleared his throat and leaned forward to begin.

“I, uh… I just wanted to start by thanking our owner Michael Williams, our general manager James Thomas, Coach Smith, and everyone in the Aces’ organization who are supporting me here today. I also want to apologize in advance if I seem a little nervous, it’s just that… I’m very, very nervous.”

That got a small chuckle from the room. Good. He pushed his paper to the side and looked out over the crowd. Mary had told him, over and over again, to be natural and approachable, not to read his speech like a script. He was going to try as hard as he could.

“I guess I should start with why I asked for this conference, huh? In the middle of last season, I met a man. We got to talking, and he told me that he used to play hockey for a college that’s won the Frozen Four. I’ve looked up tapes since then, and guys, he was phenomenal. With proper training and conditioning, who knows... But even if I were to tell you his name, none of you would know it.

“See, this man left college after one semester. It happens. The pressure of school on top of being an athlete gets to a lot of people. That wasn’t the problem in this case, though. No, the problem was that he felt isolated and alone, even when he was on the ice with nine other players or a locker room with 21 other guys. He felt that way because he is gay.”

Kent paused and took a small sip of water. Some of the reporters were taking notes on their phones, even a few on old school notepads. He tried not to be intimidated by it.

“The NHL, and hockey in general, makes a good show of supporting the LGBTQIA+ community. There are Pride events, rainbow tape, donations to good causes. But the reality is, that’s not enough. A gay man felt isolated, despite all of the rainbow merchandising, because referees turned a blind eye to him being called slurs on the ice. He was targeted because of who he is. It’s not enough to make a show of supporting the LGBTQIA+ community if we’re not actively trying to make changes to the toxic culture that organized sports, and hockey specifically, perpetuate.”

He cleared his throat and took a breath. He was halfway done, no big deal, he could handle the rest. Kent hoped that Eric didn’t mind that he altered his story a little bit. He hadn’t intended to, really, but it felt right somehow to include the things that he had experienced or seen firsthand, the reasons that he was so afraid to come out for so long. 

“This season, I’ll be working with You Can Play to come up with ways that teams can start making positive changes. Changes that actively improve the lives of those who suffer from homophobia and transphobia. We’ve also partnered with The Gibby House, a shelter for homeless queer youth, to host several events to bring sports to the kids who live there. It’s been, uh… A challenge to get a group of gay teens to see that not all athletes are assholes, and that’s on all of us. But it’s been incredibly rewarding.

“Not enough, though. Most of those kids have been ignored and pushed aside, so it’s understandable that they’re weary of a bunch of athletes trying to make pet projects out of them. But that’s not what it is for me. So. Shit… oh, sorry, shoot.”

He could stop. He had already made an official announcement, one that could be explained away as important enough for a whole press conference. Or he could tell them that he was donating some stupid amount of money and call it a day. The reporters would buy it, probably.

For a second, though, Kent could imagine the look on Eric’s face, the unshed tears when he talked about how much he loved hockey and how much it hurt him to feel so alone. Goddamnit, Kent was going to fucking do it.

“So, I wanted to tell every kid out there, every queer athlete that feels along: you’re not. I’m here with you, because I’m gay. I’m… yeah.”

Kent let out a deep breath, somewhere between a sigh of relief and a barely contained sob. On his left, Mary tapped twice on his knee and nodded toward his paper, a reminder that he had a little more to go.

“Oh yeah, um. I’m supposed to say that I’m not taking questions at this time. My private life is still private, and this announcement isn’t an invitation to pry. I hope you are all mature and professional enough to keep the pre- and post-game interviews about the game only. Thank you.”

He started to stand up, and leaned back down at the last minute. “Oh, and if that man I was talking about is listening right now, I’d really like to take you out on a date. Just, uh. Text me, please.”

Kent gave an awkward smile and quickly made his way out of the conference room as fast as he could without actually running. On the other side of the door, he walked straight into Swoops’ open arms for a bone-crushing hug. Good fucking lord did he need that hug. When he heard the door open again, he pulled away and turned around. The crowd should be busy for a while still, desperately trying to talk to management and HR.

He was confused when he saw Izzy’s back disappearing into the room. Then he noticed a line of players waiting more patiently than Kent had ever seen a bunch of fucking hockey players wait for anything.

Swoops threw a thick arm around his shoulder and grinned at him. “It may have gotten around what all the hush hush shit was lately. There were a few guys who needed to get some shit off their chest.”

Kent looked at him, confused. What the fuck did that mean, they had things they needed to get off their chests? Was the press conference turning into some sort of weird confession booth?

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Swoops rapped him on his head. “Come on, captain, get with the program. Some of them have statements of support for you, but most of them… they’re coming out, too, man.”

Kent kind of couldn’t breathe. Guys supporting him, he could kind of understand, but coming out? He looked at the line a little more closely. It was a half-dozen guys, some Aces and some Falcs, some were in game-day suits, a few in under armor. Snowy, the goalie from the Falcs, was shifting from skate to skate, already wearing most of his gear. Some of the guys waiting were players that Kent knew had extremely strict game-day routines. They were breaking them just for this. Fuck, Kent might actually cry.

He turned back to Swoops, fully intending to burrow into the biggest hug the stadium had ever seen, but he caught someone from the corner of his eye. A recognizable slouch, trying to hide in the wide open hallway, like that was going to do any good. 

Kent swallowed hard, and clapped Swoops on the shoulder. He already had one difficult talk, he could have another.

Kent had been doing his best to avoid Zimms since he started playing in the league. There were a million and one reasons not to talk to him, and for the life of him he couldn’t think of a single reason that it would be a good idea to try to. It always seemed like Zimms was on the same page with him about that.

In a way, though, it made sense to have that conversation on the same day he came out. Closure or some shit. Or maybe Zimms just wanted to yell at him about the amount of shit that coming out would bring on his doorstep, about the amount of journos who were going to start looking back on the old tape and over-analyzing every move they made between the ages of 13 and 17. Whatever.

Most of the guys in the hallways seemed to understand that it was a thing happening. They went out of their ways to avoid them, turned their heads to give them at least the fake sense of privacy. It was sweet, but they were still in the hallway outside of a room filled with press, though. Kent didn’t want to forget that. 

Up close, Zimms looked good. He looked better than Kent had ever seen him look, honestly. The NHL was his home, it was always supposed to be. As much strife as Zimm’s OD had caused him, he had to admit that the years of getting help and working on himself was a good thing, in the long run. 

“Sup, Zimms?”

“That was really brave, Kenny.” Zimms accent was stronger than it normally was in pressers that Kent would sometimes catch after games. It sounded like he had just returned from his parent’s house, which honestly was probably the case. It sounded like they were 14 and Zimms spoke more French than English, when he needed Kent to translate when the guys spoke too quickly or when they were drunk. It was kind of nice. Nostalgic.

Kent shrugged and half-grimaced. 

“I’m not so sure about it being brave. It definitely wasn’t smart. But, I think it was necessary.” 

It was beyond time for a change to happen. Something needed to be done, and somehow Kent was the one to do it. He wasn’t sure how the fuck he ended up doing it, but he did. He was just as surprised as everyone else, honestly.

Zimms shook his head a little. “No, Kenny, it was brave. Braver than I’ll ever be. I can’t... “ he nodded towards the slowly moving line of players at the press door. “I won’t ever be able to do that.”

Kent was taken aback for a minute, because he didn’t expect anyone to take that step with him. He didn’t want anyone else to feel like they needed to open themselves up to the potential for targeting, for hatred for all the reasons that they never came out in the first place. 

He wanted to say so, wanted to say something, but Zimms cut him off before he could get anything out. 

“No, Kenny. I know that wasn’t why you did this, but still. I can’t, not now. Maybe not ever. And I know that the story you told wasn’t all about… the person you met. I remember all the taunts on the ice, all the dirty hits, and I remember not saying anything. I’m, uh. I’m really sorry, Kenny. I’m sorry I never did anything to help you, and I’m sorry I can’t help now.”

It had already been an overly emotional day and he was pretty much at the limit of what he could take. Part of his brain couldn’t quite comprehend what was happening. The other part of his brain (apparently the part that controlled his tear ducts), was immediately overwhelmed by what Zimms was saying, but the heartfelt meaning behind the words.

An apology from Zimms was something he never considered that he would get. It wasn’t something that he even thought he deserved, not really. Zimms hadn’t done any of that shit to him, and he wasn’t responsible for the actions of other guys. As far as he was concerned, everything was all in the past between them. 

He didn’t really know what to say or how to respond. Honestly, he didn’t even know if he could say or respond at that point. His body was giving out in a way it never had after physical activity. He just… didn’t have the capacity for anything else.

Zimms had that little half grin that he got sometimes, like he knew exactly what Kent was thinking. He held out a hand, like it was every other day and they were getting ready for a game. 

“I’ll see you on the ice, eh, Parser?”

Kent reached his hand out, and used Zimm’s offered arm to pull him in for a hug. It was a little stilted and awkward, nothing like the hugs they shared so many years ago, but maybe that was good. They were different men, in different places in their lives. It made sense that different was the new normal.

“I’ll see you later, Zimms.”

Zimms pulled back. He was still smiling, but there was something behind his eyes. He clasped Kent on the shoulder and said, “When Bitty calls you back, tell him I said hello, yeah?”

**Author's Note:**

> It's been... forever sincae I've written a full fic from start to finish, so I'm pretty proud of this one :)   
> I have vague images in my head of a sequel, so if that's something that you'd like to see, let me know.


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